


We're Not Friends

by shealynn88



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Season/Series 02, bonus fanart!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/pseuds/shealynn88
Summary: Why doesStileshave to be the one putting up with the werewolf’s threats and stares and shoulders and cheekbones and leather jacket, getting his stupid huge hands all over his jeep and now his kitchen and his living room...
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 134





	We're Not Friends

Stiles always seems to get stuck doing the werewolf grunt work. Chauffeuring one Derek Hale to the sheriff station, the animal clinic, the school. Looking up records and autopsies and lore that the werewolf should already know. Hunting down information that might give away his stupid pack that Stiles doesn’t even like anyway because they’re mean and murderous and not cool. Why does _he_ have to be the one putting up with the werewolf’s threats and stares and shoulders and cheekbones and leather jacket, getting his stupid huge hands all over his jeep and now his kitchen and his living room...

Stiles shakes his head. _Off track. Off track, Stiles._ “Okay,” he says, forcing himself to focus as he searches the police reports. “Looks like there haven’t been any other animal attacks reported, so it sounds like you got the rest of the roadkill your buddies ripped through. You know I could get in huge trouble for this, right?” He runs the script to clear the access logs. “Not that you care, of course. No, because what else would I be doing with my time? Just breaking into my dad’s computer to get you information that _only I_ can get you. And what do I get for it? Huh? A big fat nothing, I’ll bet. Just the honor of your silent, terrifying company. You know—” He closes the last window with a dramatic click and then spins around to face Derek, righteously annoyed—and, _wow_ , Derek is closer than he’d realized. Stiles’ rant sticks in his throat. He’s uncharacteristically quiet when he finally continues. “You know, I didn’t hold you up in that pool because I thought you’d protect me. I’m not like that. Neither is Scott.”

Derek stares at him silently and Stiles finally swallows hard and spins his chair slowly back to the computer. _Down, boy,_ he tells himself firmly. _Down_. 

Derek remains silent beside him and Stiles shakes his head and mumbles. “Don’t know why I bother with you, man.”

“I know,” Derek says, voice low enough that it reverberates right there in Stiles’ stomach in that irritating fucking way that Derek has. Untrustworthy, horrible, infuriating Derek, who can’t believe anyone exists who isn’t just as selfish and self-absorbed as he is.

Stiles spins back again in a fury. “You know. You _know?_ You think you—”

Derek grabs him by the shoulder and leans in, intense. Is there anything he does that isn’t red alert levels of intense? Christ, Stiles can feel his heart in his chest, galloping along at a rate that must be pounding in Derek’s ears. 

Derek’s voice is gravel low, almost angry. “I know. It wasn’t because you needed my protection.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles spits back. Well—” He stutters to a halt as the words sink in. “Oh. Yeah. Well, right. Exactly. Because sometimes you don’t need a reason, y’know. To do something decent.”

Derek’s fingers are on his skin, now, shifted up so they burn against the side of his neck. “We’re not friends, Stiles.”

Stiles is fairly certain his stomach is somewhere in his left lung, and his skin is on fire, and his heart is going to make a bloody mess when it bursts out of his chest. “I know,” he whispers, and it’s not at all how he meant it to sound. Not like this, all desperate and breathy.

“Stiles,” Derek breathes, and he’s close. God, he’s so close that Stiles can finally see the depths of his eyes—twelve different colors of green and grey and brown in there. Jesus, this man should be illegal.

“Derek?” he squeaks.

Derek leans in, just the smallest bit, and his breath is hot against Stiles’ mouth, making him forget everything he’s ever known. He’s never kissed anyone before. Not for real. Not like this, with his whole body on fire and a huge hand on his neck, holding him steady while the rest of him threatens to fall away. He lets out a shuddering breath as Derek’s lips slot into his, drag his top lip up and then he feels the hot swipe of Derek’s tongue, there and then gone again, and Stiles just lets his mouth fall open in surrender. Derek kisses him gently, not at all the way he thought a werewolf with twenty chips on his shoulder would kiss. Not that he’s thought about it. 

Or dreamed about it.

Derek moves back and Stiles just manages not to follow.

“You shouldn’t…” Derek grimaces and stands up, his hand dropping away from Stiles’ neck. “I’m not here for _you_. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

Stiles closes his eyes and touches his lip with one finger. “I mean, I know _some_ stuff.”

But Derek is already gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

“Oh my God,” Stiles says aloud. “Oh my _God_.” He thunks his head down on the desk and tries to forget the burn of Derek Hale’s mouth.

Things just got very complicated.


End file.
